Chapter Text
Mondstadt. The fabled city of wind and freedom. Leveled on a small island in the middle of Cider Lake, Mondstadt sits as a bustling town. Its cathedral stands in the back, with an overlook of the whole city from atop one of the spires. In front lies a large statue, one of the Anemo God, Barbatos. The statue depicts the god stepping forward, hands cupped to bless his beloved people.
But to the many residents of Mondstadt, he has been absent for over 500 years, letting the city grow and run itself even without its Archon.
"Go forth and establish a city of freedom without rule." They have not forgotten Barbatos' wish for Mondstadt.
But perhaps their god is closer than they think.
Hidden away, in the corner of a deserted Tavern, a bard lies, drunk. His face is down, his hat drooping to the side. His outfit was upbeat, with a green cape and contrasts like green rolling hills and sunny skies. His hands are flopped, one loosely holding a wine bottle, the other, a lyre.
He drinks to forget, but still remembers.
He thinks back, always, when he tries to forget.
He remembers a boy, who revolutionized against Decarabian, god of storms.
He remembers a dragons cries as poison corroded him.
Why should a God have feelings, he wonders? Why should he care?
He doesn’t look up, not to see the Acting Grand Master enter the Tavern, her face exhausted, and her eyes somber. Her gaze flashed to the drunk god, before walking over, the silence agonizingly slow.
She taps him on the shoulder.
“Venti?” Jean whispers, her expression crowded with worry.
The bard shot up, gaze unfocused and smile torn.
“Hmm? Jean?” He slurred, blinking rapidly to stay awake. Gods below, the Anemo Archon sure could drink.
“Oh? The great Barbatos has gotten sober?” A voice rises, as Diluc eyes the pair from behind the serving table.
“Please, don’t use Barbatos. Just Venti,” the bard mutters, hitting the table again before hiccuping between drunk sobs.
“Oh dear. Still drunk?” Jean sighs, sitting down next to him. Diluc lets out a heavy sigh.
“He’s been like this ever since he took his first bottle.” Diluc looks tired, but shuffles from behind the bar to leaning on a beam next to them. The splashing of drinks and overwhelming tavern noises fill the room for a few moments. Outside the window, a faint howl carries across the wind.
Jean glances at the open, starry sky. The bard shoots up, posture straight.
“That’s Andrius—I mean, Lupus Boreas.” Venti’s eyebrows crease in concern. From Stormterrors lair, the glow of bright pink swirled with the deep blue.
“Is that…the abyss?” Jean questioned.
“Abyssal corruption.” Venti answered, before standing up, hands clutching his lyre.
“No. You can’t go alone Venti.” Diluc eyed the bard warily, setting down the cup he’d been polishing.
“It’s my problem. Especially with Lupus and the Abyss.”
Venti steps outside, looking up at the star painted sky and looking out to the glowing ruins.
“I apologize in advance.” He looks back to Jean and Diluc, his voice just above a whisper.
“Barbatos, wait—“ but he was already gone, with a teal, windy glow, dandelions scattered in his absence, and his outline was barely visible as the glow swallowed him and he dissolved.
“Like the wind…” Diluc echoes, staring at the empty space.
“Call Traveller. If you can, get into contact with Eula, Albedo, Klee, and Kaeya.” Jean asks, sighing heavily before drawing her sword.
“What about you?” Diluc asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m getting Rosaria, Sucrose, and Fischl.” Jean replied, walking out the bar.
“When everyone else gets there, you’ll see us. We’ll be the last line of defense against the Abyss.” Jean turns to leave, but Diluc stops her.
They share a somewhat moment of prayer.
“Bring our God back home safe.” Diluc whispers, before he rushed off in the night to find the others. Jean nodded, already off to do the same.
This time, their god would not be alone in a battle for freedom.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
He was flying.
Well, more like gliding.
His archon outfit was out of question, and old to date, but still. His downy, white feathered wings at least could carry him across to the land. He had to admit, after years without wear, the winds did seem somewhat cramped when they hit the air. Below him, prowling at the edge of the ruins, Andrius, the spirit, at least, eyed him from below. Andrius, no matter how old, or dead, he was the kind to demand loyalty, yet become just as fierce and protective in return. Venti aimed downwards, landing quite gracefully along Andrius. The great wolf eyed him, before dipping his head slightly.
“Barbatos. After 500 years, you have returned back.” Venti sighs.
“ So, what did you make of it?” Venti peers into the haze.
“I do not know. Tread with caution.” Andrius warns him. Lupus slowly pads forward, eyes wary. He has never let his place in quite a while. Venti floats across, feet skinning the ground. His bow was gripped tight. The pink haze grew thicker and thicker, until Venti began to realize that this was no pink haze.
“Barbatos!” Andrius yells, his bright blue body surrounded by the Abyss. Venti motions his bow towards him, but the pink haze grew even thicker.
“Andrius!” Venti hollers, waving away at the smoke. The haze is heavy. It urges his body to sleep.
Brother!
Help us!
Help!
The cries of his siblings echo in his ears. His mind flashes to the tower, 2600 years ago. He sees Amos, Decarabian, his friend, each of them, dead before they could see the next rising sun.
Venti holds his hands to his chest, and tears, soft and warm, roll down his cheeks, dripping down onto the ground below him, which was lost in the pink haze.
“Andrius!” He called again, through hiccups and sobs.
But no-one answered him.
Not even the wind.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Rosaria was one of the many to feel it.
A huge burst of wind, like all the air in a bag that exploded. The windmills were thrown back, the fabric sails ripping away with the force.
But after the huge wave, there was an eerie silence.
Like the wind seemed to hold its own breath.
It grew more and more stagnant, harder and harder to breathe properly.
But then she saw it.
A huge flash of green that engulfed her vision. And wind so powerful it knocked her to one of the Cathedral’s walls.
The air left her lungs, before she collapsed, turning back up quickly again.
Mondstadt was being attacked by nameless winds, that relentlessly battered, swept, and smacked down anything standing. It felt like someone invisible beating Rosaria up.
Was that what the others felt?
Deep inside her soul, a thread of words formed together to make a sentence that gnawed deep at her bones.
“My beloved children, your savior has returned to protect you.”
That was not the voice of the God she thought it was.
It sounded like it, if god was feminine.
While getting continuously beat up by pure wind, Rosaria idily wondered who was the cause of all this.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
The wind was crying. The wind was screaming in anger, crying in rage, and drowning in the sorrow of it all.
The world it worked so hard to defend was overrun by the Abyss. One wisp of the thousand winds nudged their brother’s shoulder.
But he remained limp, tears of magenta pink staining his cheeks. His archon outfit glowed a venomous violet, wings curling in and expanding, feathers falling and regrowing in place. His head was dipped down, hands limp, but left in prayer.
But the gods never shower mercy, not for once.
So the Archon of Freedom lay there, crying tears that weren’t his, and shaking a body that belonged to another long ago.
The winds grew even sadder with every passing moment.